John Watson and The Thousand Paper Cranes
by Le Feuilly
Summary: John Watson is terrified - He's been diagnosed with leukemia and the doctors can't do much to save him. But when his friend comes around and tells him the tale of a Thousand Cranes, John realizes that there may be some hope left. Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Credit to Dhampir72 from thinking up the idea :)**

**And I don't own Sherlock or Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes! They belong to BBC and Eleanor Coerr (R.I.P)**

**So enjoy the first chapter! Even if it's sad :(**

* * *

"He's been diagnosed with leukemia. I'm so sorry, but there's not much we can do to help him."

Dr. John Hamish Watson put his hands over his ears, trying to cover his ears from the terrible words being said by his doctor. _This can't be happening, _John thought. _Where did I get it?_

He closed his eyes tight and thought about where he had been to: Hungary, Italy, America, China, Norway, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand, Japan …

Japan.

_Of course, _John thought. _I must have gotten _it _there._

A knock on the door swept John away back into his life. A life that would be spent taking medication and sitting in a hospital bed, taken care by nurses.

"John?" A deep, baritone voice said. John turned and felt his life gush back into his pale and weak body.

Yes, even though Sherlock Holmes would usually suck the light from the sun, he would always be the bright star shining above all of his friends – consisting Molly Hooper, DI Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Dr. John H. Watson.

"Oh, hello Sherlock," John replied. "I'm glad you could come here and visit me."

"You're Welcome. But that isn't why I'm here."

"Then … Why are you here?" John asked.

Sherlock produced a small, golden bird out of his left breast pocket. "I'm here to give you this: a paper crane. Have you heard of the Japanese legend before?

John shook his head.

"Well, legend has it that if you fold one thousand paper cranes –"

"One thousand bloody paper cranes!" John interrupted, shocked.

"Yes, you heard me, John Watson – One thousand. No more and no less, understood? Anyway, if you fold one thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant you a wish," Sherlock stared into John's eyes. "And you could wish that you would win your battle of leukemia and live with me in 221B Baker Street forever, solving crimes."

Tears trickled down John's cheeks like raindrops. He was deeply touched by his friend – who was usually informed for not having a heart – and how much he wanted him to stay alive.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Unfortunately, I don't know how to fold one."

"I can teach you." Sherlock said.

The two then spent the afternoon folding and folding and folding paper cranes until a large stack appeared on John's bedside table, all multicoloured, like a rainbow waterfall cascading down towards a large pot of gold.

They then counted the ones they folded so far – Two Hundred and Fifty Seven – A great start … But not even close to one thousand.

"Well John," Sherlock looked at his watch. "It's been fun folding origami with you but it's getting late and I must be off. I'll see you soon. I promise."

"I'll see you soon too, Sherlock."

* * *

**REVIEW! IT FEEDS MY BRAIN!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Special thanks to Anon and Humming for helping me spot a little mistake in chapter one. I'm no good at remembering that kind of stuff so thanks :)**

**And thank you to everyone who liked this! You guys really make my day :)**

**So without further ado ... Chapter Two!**

* * *

_39, 340, 341, 342 …_

_Rattle, Rattle, Rattle._

John stopped folding for a second. He was sure that he heard a peculiar sound. He listened again carefully, hoping that he would hear it. But alas, he heard nothing. He sighed and continued folding his chocolate wrapper paper cranes – gifts from Mycroft, Sherlock's brother. John had smiled when he saw these delivered to him with a note attached as they were empty, with only specks of chocolate left in them, proving that Mycroft had once again thrown his diet out of the window.

_Rattle, Rattle, Rattle._

The sound sucked John away from his thoughts. He was sure something was going on but he just could not put his finger on it. "Hello? Who's there?" he called out.

"Hello John. Nice seeing you again." John turned towards the familiar high-pitched voice.

He clenched his fists. "James Moriarty, what on earth are you doing here?"

James shrugged. "I just came to say 'hi'. And do call me Jim, Johnny boy."

"Do not call me 'Johnny Boy', _Jim_!"

"Whatever," Jim replied. He looked around John's hospital room and smirked. "I see you've taken up origami – a nice hobby for a dying man."

"Shut up!" John roared. "Look, I just want you to get the hell out of my hospital room. What good have you done in my life?"

Jim sighed. "Fine, I'll leave. But first," He handed John a small, plain piece of red paper. "Here's a piece of printer paper you could use for your crane collection."

"How did you know I was folding cranes?"

"I looked at your little mountain on the chair. But anyway, I promise you that it's one hundred percent normal. Bug-less, Booby trap-less etc."

"Well, someone's out of character."

Jim stiffened. "I'm not out of character. It's just the kind part of my heart showing. Now do complete your little collection. Or else Sherlock and I will be very, very, very sad."

John sighed. "Alright, I'll try to finish it. Now go away!"

"Good Luck. And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

And on that note, Jim Moriarty walked out of the door, leaving John smirking at the_ Hunger Games_ quote.

* * *

**Yes, I know it's short but anyway ... REVIEW! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yup, it's been forever and I'm sorry about that :( But fortunately, it's the summer holiday! *Blows bazooka and eats a cupcake***

**This means I'm going to update more often! And don't worry. I can't see the end yet. But be prepared to HATE me (sadly).**

**But anyway, the usual:**

**I (sadly) don't own Sherlock. Sir ACD does. And as for the series, it belongs to the BBC and Hartswood Films :(**

* * *

Shaking uncontrollably, John struggled to finish his paper crane. He knew that death was sitting right next to him, ready to strike his sword. However, John knew he needed to finish this paper crane or else he would fail his friends, enemies, arch enemies …

… And Sherlock

Sherlock – His stubborn, idiotic and childish colleague and best friend in the world. God knows what would happen to him when John died. He would collapse into an endless void of sadness, depression and loneliness. No matter how hard anyone would try, Sherlock would never be the same anymore.

John had to try to not be dead.

The sharp creases of a crane swept his thoughts away as he realized that he had finished his last paper crane. John smiled, knowing that now there was a way to keep Sherlock sane. He placed it in between the palms of his hands and began to pray.

"_Dear God, please, please, please let me live. Sherlock will never be the same without me – dead or alive. Therefore, I ask for one more miracle. Please! Just let me live!"_ Tears started to stream down his face. _"God, have mercy! Please!"_

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." A familiar voice said.

John turned, revealing Moriarty smiling with a gun in his hand. "Sorry Johnny. I'm so changeable!"

John held his breath. "How could you? Jim, how could you?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm a psychopath and as you know," He fired his gun. "Psychopaths are insane."

John clutched his stomach as black spots danced in front of his eyes. "She – Sherlock …"

Jim tut-tutted. "A shame that Sherlock won't be the same once you're gone, Johnny Boy; now it'll be easier for me to burn the heart out of him."

"B-but Sherlock …"

"Oh, you shouldn't give a damn about him now that you're dying Johnny." He traced the outline of John's face with his gun.

"Go to hell, you demon," John said through his teeth. "J - Just … go! Let me die in peace!"

Moriarty straightened. "Alright then, Johnny boy –"

"Don't c-c-call me J-Johnny Boy!" John stuttered.

"Alright _Dr._ _Watson - _I'll let you die in peace. Sweet dreams!" And on that note, James Moriarty leapt out of the window and landed onto the pavement where he began to run as fast as the wind, leaving John alone in his hospital room rapidly loosing the blood pouring out of his stomach.

* * *

**Yeah, sorry about that. But you know, I just had to. :(**

**REVIEW! IT FEEDS MY BRAIN!**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I know I haven't updated in A LONG TIME ... But school has been bugging me. And BTW, this chapter will be horribly ****angst filled but you can't skip it; it's the main one :(**

**And now are the usual disclaimers: I don't own Sherlock blah blah. And I don't own the story of The Thousand Paper Cranes either blah.**

**~thegirlwiththebrowneyes :P**

* * *

Sherlock held a small box of golden dusted macaroons as he headed towards St Barts, ready to give them to his bone skinny friend, John. Sherlock knew John was on the verge of dying as he could picture him as neared the large crevasse that was death, heaven and hell. With tanned skin virtually hanging off of his limbs and hollowed cheeks, he knew that he would have to make the most of his time with John; once his friend was gone, he could not go "Frankenstein" on him. It simply wasn't possible.

So as he neared the hospital, he came under unprepared shock as Molly, his friend and close ally, wrapped her arms around his pale and slender body, crying over a bathtub.

"It's John," she said between sobs, hiccuping. "He's been shot. He's - He's dying, Sherlock! C-come quickly!"

Sherlock's eyes widened as he shoved the box into Molly's arms and sprinted towards John's hospital bed: 221. And as he ran, time slowed as he shoved past doctors sipping vanilla flavoured coffee and nurses carrying trays filled to the brim with medicines. He kept on sprinting, no matter his breath had gone raspy, hoarse or dry; he needed John.

He needed his Doctor.

He reached John's room, yanking his door open, revealing his best friend nearly unconscious, nearly succumbing to his injuries. His face was paler and his cheeks hollower than he had ever seen. His golden blonde hair was unevenly distributed throughout the top of his head. And finally, he was clutching his skinny abdomen, trying to stop the arterial bleeding. But he knew it was too late.

Sherlock felt tears running across his cheeks as he slumped to John's side, holding his freed weak hand. "John," Sherlock's voice was hoarse and marred from it's original beauty. "Please. Please don't die. You will defy god. I swear you will; I will go to the ends of the World to save you."

John tried to laugh, coughing up blood. "Sherlock. It's my time. I have to go now. But remember this," He kissed Sherlock's fingers as a sign of goodbye. "I will always be your Doctor, no matter what."

John closed his eyes, his heartbeat stopping among the Thousand Paper Cranes that lay next to him. And Sherlock knelt next to him, crying more than he had ever cried in his lifetime. And that was saying something, something about a man who never cried; if he cried, it would be like Mars getting crushed.

And he was crying.

And so was Molly, his friend, his ally (who was now standing beside him).

And he figured Lestrade would cry too.

The World would mourn the death of a Doctor who defied odds, went on many misadventures and cared for his flatmate more than ever. And he was Doctor John Watson, the Doctor who almost defied death.

* * *

**It's not finished yet! At least two more chapters to go!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Last chapter guys! I know not a lot of people are reading this story but if you are, thank you! I know I don't update often, and I'm sorry. Hopefully a new Sherlock story will come out soon when I find the time to actually sit down and write, even if it's crap fiction (at times) :P**

**~lefeuilly**

* * *

May 14th was his funeral day, and a large procession of people attended to say their goodbyes. Even Donovan and Anderson decided to drop by, wearing dark and sombre coloured attire to the occasion.

Sherlock Holmes, his best friend and flatmate attended his funeral, but lay in the shadows; he disliked public speaking, no matter if he wanted the last word in the universe. Right now, he wanted to be alone, waiting to say the goodbyes he held inside. Whispers upon whispers were travelling through the cathedral – no one understood him, and Sherlock was perfectly fine with that.

Only Greg Lestrade could, and he thanked those five years well spent years with Sherlock as a colleague and friend, no matter how often he spoke horribly about Scotland Yard. And now that John was gone, Lestrade had no idea how Sherlock would continue living in the world. Maybe he would end up growing old in 221B, in the care of Mrs Hudson for as long as she lived.

Speaking of Mrs Hudson, she attended too, wearing the same clothes she wore for Sherlock's "funeral" a few days after his jump from St Bartholomew's Hospital. She had brought along one of her many minced pies for Sherlock, but he had kindly said no to her offer; she guessed that he wasn't in the mood … As usual.

Molly Hooper, Sherlock's friend and morgue-colleague also attended; she stood next to the man she loved the most, comforting him when times were terribly rough. It never mattered if Sherlock had used her love for him in the past – she still loved him and would do anything to take care of him. But now that John was gone, she (like everyone there) wondered how Sherlock would live in the world without someone to constantly complain to or play Cluedo with.

Moriarty attended too, briefly, before muttering about how funerals were so dull and leaving; that was typical behaviour, and no one saw him there. Well, if they did, they were _disposed of._

When it came to saying goodbye, Donovan, Anderson, Lestrade and other Yard members lead the procession first, looking at John with sorrow and respect before moving on with tears in their eyes. John's friends, Mike, Molly and others that cared for him went next, along with Mrs Hudson; she was afraid she might faint, so she walked along with Molly.

Finally, it was Sherlock Holmes' turn.

He walked towards John's casket and looked down to see his friend's corpse, only to gasp, tears in his eyes (it took a lot of convincing to make Sherlock cry; crying was simply not a Sherlock thing to do) – John, wearing his jumper-and-jeans, lay sleeping peacefully with a cheerful smile on his face, covered in paper cranes, all 1000 of them. They lay next to the man who devoted the last few months of his life to making a wasted wish come true.

For a while, nothing could touch Sherlock Holmes – he simply believed that nothing existed but himself and his dead friend.

He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"My friend, why couldn't I have come earlier to save you so that you would still be alive with me, solving crimes, all day long?" Sherlock told the air. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Only anger remained inside Sherlock's body, no soul and nothing. He would avenge his friend's death. He knew this was all Moriarty's fault.

And he was going to tear him down, brick by brick.


End file.
